


Miscue

by hannahrhen



Series: Good, Giving, Game [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Campsite Rule, Consent Issues, Everything Hurts, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki wants to be spanked. Tony wants to hurt. These are not the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter to take place after the original narrative.

To anyone else, Tony’s state of mind would have been ... not invisible, but probably just not of concern, Bruce supposed. The man was always bouncing off the walls, making dramatic proclamations, flailing about something.

Just being inappropriate, hilarious, and--

All energy.

The energy was sparking off Tony’s skin right now, yeah. But it was the wrong frequency. His grin was frozen, hair messed up just enough that it was clear he hadn’t washed or brushed it since sleeping, despite the formality of the event. His tie, poorly coordinated. Bruce didn’t give much of a damn about menswear, but, for attending a cocktail party, Tony looked flat. Untailored.

Less GQ and more HM.

And he was drinking a little too much. Tony, post-Chitauri, had made a dramatic (yeah) show of cutting down on the alcohol, telling Clint--in earshot of half the team--that he wanted to be “in arm’s reach of sober” most of the time, “just in case.”

“Just in case” of another attack. Which was, fair to say, a legitimate concern. Since then, he’d seen Tony buzzed a few times--cheerful, flirtatious (yeah, even with Bruce, but especially with Steve), open and warm.

He hadn’t seen him drunk.

Tony was drunk now. In arm’s reach of it, anyway.

Bruce circled the room--the epic-sized living room of some retired full-time-businessman-turned-part-time-philanthropist. The reception was meant to celebrate the addition of a new science and engineering school the man had seeded downtown. Tony and Bruce had been lured to attend after each had a laboratory space named in his honor.

Science, philanthropy, and flattery: the combo had worked when they’d accepted the invitation weeks before.

Not so much now. Now, Tony was drunk, and Bruce was concerned.

So Bruce wanted to approach Tony quietly, from behind, when no one else was hovering. Not give him a chance to shore up that fake smile and start the patter Bruce knew he’d hear. He surveyed the room; for a moment, at least, there was a perimeter around Tony that might allow them to speak freely.

Tony turned immediately at the light hand on his shoulder. And Bruce saw, for a second, what was behind the mask. Hurt. Fear. A shaken sort of doubt that was not Tony, except at the very worst times. Shifting his hand as Tony turned to face him, maintaining his hold, Bruce squeezed through muscle to bone. “Tony--”

“Don’t, Bruce.” Held the hand with the glass up, his free fingers raised in the universal gesture of discouragement.

Oh, Tony. “I have to.”

“You’re not that kind of doctor, I thought.” He grimaced into his drink as he sipped. “That’s what you said.”

Bruce tilted his head, offered his attempt at a reassuring smile. “No, but ... I am that kind of friend?” He looked around. “This thing isn’t getting any better, I don’t think. Want to head out?”

Relief spread over Tony’s features. “Yeah.” He looked around--still no audience. Let out a breath that quivered in his throat. “Bruce,” he gasped. “I fucked up.” Then, lower, shamed: _“I fucked up.”_

Bruce turned them further so none of the other guests could see Tony’s face. “How--?”

“I just ... I fucked up, and he’s gone, and he’s probably going to start killing people again. For real.” He took a long, pointed drink. Offered with a bleak matter-of-factness, “And it’s my fault.”

Yeah, Bruce could have laid big money on Loki being involved in this relapse, somehow. Tony had been ... off ... since they’d gotten him back, since that traumatizing extraction in which Bruce had seen way too much naked dick.

(And, God, if he could destroy a few memory engrams, could transfer a single experience to the Other Guy, he would pick stumbling first into the room where Loki, kneeling, was sucking Tony off. Being waved fervently away by Tony with one graceless hand as the other cradled Loki’s head, smoothed his hair. All of it as gentle as if they were on a honeymoon, not torturing and being tortured to the limits of sexual depravity. The “rescuers” had withdrawn, confused, and sat on the benches in the hallway like the most awkward doctor’s waiting room ever.)

(Oh, and Tony’s smile in the car back? His absent, sated smile--could that go, also? He would have paid money to miss that debrief but fortunately hadn’t needed to. The team “debrief” had consisted entirely of Natasha demanding the gory details while slamming Tony’s bedroom door in the rest of their faces. Natasha, for the record, had broken into unexpected chuckles for the rest of the evening, shaking her head, before reporting to Fury the next morning.

Bruce didn’t understand what had happened, really. Still didn’t. And didn’t want to until this moment.)

“Tony,” Bruce tried. “If he starts killing people--” He didn’t repeat the “again,” didn’t need to. “--it’s only his fault. Only his.”

Tony was drunk, yes. His eyes bloodshot, hand too tight around the tumbler. To anyone else, his state of mind wouldn’t have been noticeable.

But other people, as Tony frequently observed, were stupid. “Not you, Brucie,” he’d say, slapping him on the back as they passed in the workshop. “Thank God for you.”

Now, he took the glass out of Tony’s hand, looked for the reception’s hostess. “Let’s go home, Tone. You can tell me all about it.”

**A week before**

Tony stumbled his way off the landing pad, the robotic arms he’d created straining to the edges of their preprogrammed trajectories to dutifully remove armor piece by piece.

His body moved by sense memory, sight barely registering the steps in front of him, the room. He bypassed the bar altogether and lurched into a sofa.

He couldn’t lie down, he couldn’t sit back up--just hunched, head in hands, until he had enough breath to lean back and scream to the ceiling. “Goddammit!”

_“GODDAMMIT!”_

He hadn’t believed what he had seen. At first. Hadn’t believed it at first. Loki, at the corner of what should have been a busy intersection in Midtown, clearly orchestrating the movements of what the SHIELD agents described, in their youthful redundancy, as “giant Transformers.” Tony had seen the three machines--laughed without a moment’s thought because ... fuck, Loki ... Giant robots in Manhattan?!

Scary, but more show than Hell.

And how good was that? He’d heard Tony’s pleading to be released from his sex prison just in time to see that movie with the robots and monsters and--

Loki wanted to make sure he had Tony’s attention. It worked. God, it worked, Tony marveled as he saw the god, relatively tiny in the distance, but still a beautiful, glowing presence as he maestroed the fuck out of the machines. That delicious fucker, and Tony laughed into the comms without a second’s hesitation--

And then the first monstrous machine crushed a foot into a busload of--

Tony’s face froze, his laugh choked off.

A busload of _people._

And then all the machines--all of them--

They all changed direction. All changed to the worst possible direction.

Mecha-feet set upon one screaming victim--one group of screaming victims--after another.

Tony would have fallen from the sky, at that moment, if JARVIS hadn’t read his vitals, known to correct for them. Tony’s stuttering heart, tunnel vision, the flood of adrenaline that broke his skin out in cold sweat and gooseflesh.

At that moment, Tony could see nothing but Loki’s rictus expression, even visible from the air, as he realized what was happening. As he too-slowly understood what Loki was _doing._

Tony had--yeah, he had frozen. God. _JARVIS._ He waited too long, hovering in the air, head swiveling between the murdering god below and the horrific, wetwork crushing of people in cars, people on foot. Only smears and echoing shrieks of the now-dead left bouncing back and forth between the buildings.

“Iron Man!” Cap’s shout in his ear, military sharp and all diaphragm, but only if you didn’t know him. If you hadn’t heard that tone in the most terrible moments. If you didn’t recognize that Cap himself was only just hanging on. “Do you have a clear shot?”

“I--” Could see only Loki at that moment. Barely hear anything after the screech of metal on metal as the streets otherwise fell silent, screams of the dying finally faded. How had he not seen this coming. How had he thought, after their month together, that this was going to be anything but tragic in outcome.

That Tony had made any difference. That he had mattered at all.

That Loki was going to be anything but Loki.

How had he--

God.

He’d been _so fucking stupid._

“Iron Man! Stark!” Words barked in his ear, now amplified by JARVIS.

Tony shook his head, huffed out a hard breath. “Yeah--I can ... You want me to ... You mean Loki, right? The robots, or--”

“Loki is the target. If we can get him out of commission--”

“I got it.”

And thinking about the last time Loki had touched him, what he’d said, wouldn’t actually make a difference right now. Thor was silent on the comms. Even _Thor_ was less surprised, was more goddamned resigned, than Tony. Which should have been a clue about where his life took a wrong turn. The other Avengers--they all knew what Tony had spent those weeks doing. They all knew he’d been there willingly. But they weren’t surprised by Loki orchestrating mass murder on the streets. Why was he fucking surprised?!

He set his target--one last look: Loki, in his typical armor, that verdant green and aged gold, and still with that insane grin. He was enjoying it. _Of course_ the bastard was enjoying it. Of course he’d waited for Tony to see it, to realize that none of what they’d done, not a single touch, not a single fuck, made a goddamned difference.

Tony aimed both gauntlets at Loki as he swooped in close. “JARVIS, power on full--”

And just before Tony blasted Loki to kingdom come--as close as he could send him, anyway--the god turned his face up to him, and the smile turned genuine. Pleased.

“Stark.” The tone was the same. The same warmth as when he’d touched Tony’s face, on day thirty, and, instead of repeating Tony’s “goodbye,” said, “I’ll see you again.”

Tony fired with everything he had.

(to be continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I borrowed the "not that kind of doctor" from IM3! But assume this is otherwise non-canon-compliant, obviously.


	2. Chapter 2

They hadn’t found Loki after--hadn’t expected to. Without a major upgrade in Tony’s tech, something he hadn’t exactly been working on the last few weeks, all his repulsors could do was throw the god off. Just a symbolic backhand to break up whatever trouble their alien neighbors might get up to.

So when the dust and smoke cleared, Loki was long gone, and Tony was a hot fucking mess.

He’d waited for the all-clear from Cap--as soon as Loki vanished, the robots wound down, stopped. And Tony ... Tony took that as his cue to get the fuck out, to circle the city for an hour at full speed, hoping Steve would buy his half-uttered excuse that he needed to complete reconnaissance.

Knew Steve wouldn’t buy it, but would let him go anyway.

Then, the penthouse, the couch, to shout at the ceiling. When he pulled his shit together, two hours later ... when he thought he’d actually be able to make it through the meeting without screaming, without screaming _more,_ he went in for the debrief.

First thing he heard as the door slid open? Clint’s voice, that particular outraged disgust that was second nature to the man. “With all due respect, are you fucking kidding me, sir?” A beat, then a weaker, burned-out, _“Are you fucking kidding me.”_

And Fury’s bark in response: “I’m sorry, Agent--does this revelation _disappoint_ you?” Carefully, warningly enunciated, “Were you hoping for a _different_ outcome?”

Tony slid in, foregoing the greetings, and took a seat next to Bruce, at a corner of the table away from Steve. Didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Barely kept his head from falling forward to the table’s surface. Looked in Fury’s direction, but just to the side of the man, where window met wall in an unadorned line. “Would you remind repeating the bullshit, Nick? I could use a laugh, and Barton’s face tells me I’m about to get one.” His own voice was flat in his ears.

After a too-long pause, in which Tony knew that eye was fixed only on him, Fury spoke. “I was just informing Agent Barton that Loki’s latest attack on New York--you know, the one in which giant machines crushed half the population of Midtown--”

Tony actually looked at Fury then, a new heat forcing his words. “Yeah, not fucking seeing the humor yet, Nick.”

Fury began anew: “The one in which said population had been evacuated an hour before, when the first robot showed up--”

Tony’s fingernails scraped into the smooth table surface as he balled his hands into fists. His eyes were fixed on Fury’s unbelievably inappropriate expression.

“--yielded zero casualties.”

Tony’s head jerked back, hands spasmed out on the table. “What--”

“See, not just me,” Clint sniped. Chairs creaked around the table, but the others remained silent, probably hoping to speed the explanation that had clearly been delayed due to Tony’s unplanned detour.

“What do you mean, ‘zero casualties?’”

“Exactly what I said, Stark.” And the fucker looked incredibly pleased with himself, this one little time he had gotten something over on Tony. “Robot roadkill? All illusions. That intersection had been cleared out as soon as the machines appeared, which we all knew--”

Tony shook his head, still barely grasping the words. “Yeah, but people could have been hiding in basements, gone to ground when the evacuation sounded--”

“But they didn’t--not many, anyway. They learned their lesson from the last time, I suppose. When the cleanup teams were sent in, there was nothing to clean up. No bodies, no remains. And the facial-recognition software didn’t get a single ping on the footage from the attack--none of those nonexistent victims had ever been caught on a security camera before.

“Loki fabricated them, just like he did the robots.”

Tony’s heart was pounding again, with no JARVIS to manage his recovery. _That fucking--_

Fury actually smiled, snorted. With disgust, yeah, but that was the most cheerful he usually looked anyway. “There’s still a damned mess to clean up--infrastructure repairs. Vehicles that are total losses. Power to restore. But nothing that can’t be addressed in a few days by some grossly overpaid contractors and insurance adjusters.”

Clint, under his breath: “Good luck with that ‘act of God’ clause.” As if Tony wouldn’t foot the bill. Tony resisted snapping back, still couldn’t wrap his head around--

“Sir, are there any theories as to why--” That was Cap, finally speaking. Tony tuned out, knowing damned well that Fury wasn’t going to have any goddamned idea why Loki had done what he did, but would spend the next ten minutes rehashing guesses made by whatever the opposite of SHIELD’s best and brightest was.

Worst and dullest. The remedial class.

Sure enough, the yammering continued. Tony finally looked at the others. Bruce, next to him, himself looking down at the table--breathing through myriad emotions. Clint and Nat, across, now as good-humored as anyone in that room--no bodies, and something to tell their happier war stories about.

He craned his neck, still avoiding looking directly at Steve.

No Thor--

No Thor?

“Where’s Thor?” he said over Nick’s continuing, shitty non-explanation.

“Where do you think, Stark?” Fury bitched. “Off to Asgard, to tell his parents what his baby bro has been up to. He thinks they’re going to be happy, you see, that Loki graduated up to just _appearing_ to commit mass murder.” Fury gave a little twinge of sarcastic ecstasy. “Man, I love those people.” Then Tony got a hard look. “And, so help me, Stark, if you knew--”

Tony slammed out of the chair, “I didn’t know, Nick. I haven’t seen him since--” He gave a preemptive wave of his hand. “I haven’t seen him since all of you saw him.” Six weeks before, not that Tony had counted. Every damned day. Not that Tony hadn’t jerked off every night, remembering, or, worse, had at least one story each day, one stupid comment, that he wanted to tell Loki alone.

He continued, “I have no goddamned idea what he’s doing. I have no idea why he would have--”

“No?” Fury interrupted. “'No idea,' Stark? Because I think, if you can put your mind to it, you might be able to come up with one or two ‘ideas’ why Loki would want to grab the Avengers’ attention without actually bringing the full wrath of Asgard down on his own pretty head.”

The “pretty” was uttered with the perfect inflection to suggest motive, to try, and to convict.

Fuck. _Attention._

Tony looked off through the window again, eyes unfocused.

Loki had wanted his attention, and he had gotten it. Was asking for it.

He was out of the room in the next moment, skin burning hot with anger and goddamned humiliation--for what Fury thought he knew, for what they all ... what they all really knew. About what Tony had done.

And fortunate that he knew exactly what to do now. What Loki wanted him to do.

Loki had put the solution in Tony’s very capable hands.

***

In better times, Tony frequently thought of day twenty-eight. It was worth noting, he didn’t say “day” anymore, not in his head, when he thought of it.

Just the number. Twenty-eight.

Three never failed to make him yearn. To make his mouth fucking water, the taste of Loki in his mouth, the damp cloth wiping his face.

Five, he thought of only briefly, alone in bed, when he was very, very close to bringing himself off and needed something to nudge him over the edge--the memory of restraints, sharp pain, and the firm stroke of another hand. Of Loki’s hand.

If he thought about fourteen at all, it was remembering what happened afterward, lying back in an armchair while Loki’s tongue was gentle, penitent on his dick. Reaching for Loki eagerly after he’d come, drawing the taste of himself out of Loki’s mouth. The kisses simultaneously the sweetest and filthiest he’d known.

And twenty-eight. Oh, that one he remembered. Would remember always. Loki, over his lap, sobbing and hard as Tony spanked his beautiful ass to a deep crimson. Loki rutting hard and coming in great streaming bursts in his own fist. God, _the sounds_ he'd made.

And then the satisfied smile afterward--and seeming mutual agreement not to ever mention Tony’s promise during Loki’s extremis.

That if Loki ever wanted, needed to be taken in hand, he just needed to get Tony’s attention.

Tony promised, and Tony remembered.

***

Tony went straight to the apartment from the debrief, the place Loki hadn’t given up when the month had ended--Tony knew he was there, and Loki knew Tony knew, but by some unspoken understanding, or an unacknowledged fear, they’d left each other alone.

Until today.

The suit folded off Tony’s body after he stepped in from the balcony, the buzz of Loki’s warding spell glinting off his skin as it recognized him and determined he was alone. The spell was tweaked to allow Tony freedom in those final days, the same friend-foe recognition he’d explained to Tony in magical terms at the end of Tony’s ...

 _Imprisonment._ Isn’t that what it was? He slammed the glass door behind him, heard it rattle the surrounding windows.

Loki was in the kitchen, seated, hands and table in front of him empty.

He was waiting.

After he looked Tony over, he glanced down at his hands. “You’d think I’d be infuriated at my sometime lover firing his weapons at me. Fortunately, I know--as do you--that your repulsors,” the word pronounced as if it were a foreign tongue, “are of little good against me.” He smirked, conceding, “Perhaps they stung a little.”

Tony’s hands were clenched at his sides. “Why did you do it?”

Got a strange look in return. “I was bored. And so were you.” Loki shrugged. “So, why not.”

Tony just stared at him for a moment. Took a couple of steps forward. Loki shifted, drew his hands off the table and folded them into his body.

“Were you bored, Loki? Or did you decide to _misbehave?”_

Tony didn’t imagine the bright flash of pleasure--an arrow striking a bull’s-eye. The look was followed by a tiny, false-coy smile, a little duck of the head.

“Tony,” he purred. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, baby,” he said, though he couldn’t be further from the sentiment if he tried, the words ground out. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

At Loki’s expression, all pride and wicked delight, Tony was suddenly, achingly hard. Hot and pulsing with a madness he couldn’t shake off, something he knew his target would recognize. Would appreciate, in his twisted mind.

God, this had been so fucked up. Wrong. Wrong from the start.

Had to give Loki a good reason never to do anything like it again. He lurched forward. “Up.” Reached for Loki. Grabbed his upper arm and pulled him out of his chair. “Into the living room.”

Ignored the snort of amusement he heard as he marched the compliant god ahead of him, and, when they cleared the threshold of the room, he barked a new command: “I want those pants down, and I want you over the arm of the sofa.” Gave Loki’s back a little shove that forced him forward a half-step. “Now.”

Loki glanced back, and the look he gave Tony was tinted with suspicion, but still showed a mostly tolerant good humor. A willingness to go along with whatever “game” he thought Tony was playing.

In Tony’s current mood, the expression only served to incite. He unbuckled his belt, drew the leather from its loops. The whisper of sound enough to remember a different day--a day, like all the others, he was now remembering differently.

He folded the belt in his palm. “Over the arm of the sofa,” he repeated with a hiss. ”Now.”

With a shrewder look, Loki complied. After graceful steps to the nearest end of the sofa, trousers opened efficiently and pushed down his thighs, Loki bent over to the cushions. He settled his wrists and forearms on the soft material. Sighed softly. Looked back at Tony, but--

All Tony could see was that sweet, unmarked ass. All Tony could remember was fear, and shame, and rage.

The first blow was loud in the room, and Loki jerked. Made a unmasked sound of shock and disbelief. Gasped, “Stark, you--”

Tony shifted his grip, drew the belt back. “Shut up. Just shut up and take it.” Aimed and landed a perfect X over the first reddening line. Felt some small measure of satisfaction at Loki’s soft cry, at the marks he was leaving on the perfect flesh ... that he was finally making his fucking point. That Loki was finally getting it. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

As the third blow was about to land, lower on Loki’s buttocks in the very beginning of a long siege truly meant to hurt, Tony’s swing was stopped utterly, arm fixed in place--by Loki’s tight grip on his wrist. Loki had moved so fast Tony hadn’t even seen it.

Now, however, he moved slowly, ground Tony’s bones together as he squeezed. The belt fell from Tony’s hand to the floor.

Always breathtakingly tall, Loki now took real advantage of his full height, towering over Tony, who, panting and shaken, wasn’t able to look away. Suddenly afraid that, if he did, he would lose his hand.

Loki’s face was perfect disbelief, curdling visibly into rage. If Tony had to admit it, if he were to describe it later--if he _survived_ to describe it later--he would admit that it was terrifying.

Tony made a pained sound as Loki compressed the captive joint even further. “You mean to beat me? When you’re angry?” Shook the arm, drawing another grunt out of Tony. “That is your intention?”

Loki was dressed again, something that had happened in a blink while Tony was reassessing his likelihood of survival. Loki was suddenly much less vulnerable, and Tony ... Tony stepped closer only to try to retract his arm into his own body. He got it as far as he could when the grip wouldn’t relent, attempting to minimize damage if Loki forgot his own strength--or remembered it.

Loki was waiting for an answer, or waiting at least for Tony to try to answer, to give Loki more motive to-- Tony frantically searched his mind for a response that wouldn’t fucking come. _Now_ the words abandoned him. _Now_ he’d lost control of this situation, and not because of the god that was minutes away from trying to kill him.

Loki’s expression no longer held even a hint of warmth, of tolerance. He was all cold-brewed anger, the being who crushed Tony’s throat between fingers and thumb, who shattered a window throwing Tony to his death, with no more concern for this mortal’s life than the shards of broken glass.

He flung Tony’s wrist from his grip with a sharp exhalation. “ _Tell me_ I'm mistaken. Because--and let me make this clear, Stark--I will _peel the flesh from your bones_ if you touch me in anger again.” Two hands on his chest, Tony was shoved backward, toward the kitchen, a mirror of Tony’s earlier actions. “I should do it now, for what you have dared.”

Tony stumbled, kept his aching wrist against his abdomen. His other hand reached behind for something to grab, for stability. He found nothing. _“Hey--”_

“No, you will not speak.” Loki put his hands back on Tony, pushed him again, even harder. “Your words are meaningless. You talk of consent and agreement, of mutual respect, but when you’re angry, you resort to brutality all the same. The same as everyone does.

“And I was the fool who couldn’t see through your lies.”

Tony raised his arms, tried to block Loki’s third shove, succeeded in just a sideways deflection as they spun back into the kitchen. “Hey, don’t--no. Don’t put this on me. You did that because of me. Because of what you wanted from me. This stupid--this stupid trick you played. What you put me through.” Tony sucked in a breath. “How could you ever think--God.”

And then the words he’d never heard himself say slipped from his mouth. “You know what, Loki? You _fucking deserved it.”_

Loki froze, hands stretched out toward Tony again, but no longer trying to push. Silently, he pulled his hands back in, balled them into fists at his sides.

Oh, shit.

_Ohshitohshitohshit._

And that expression? Profound disappointment. “Oh, Stark.” His name said in that tone again, the one from the glass cage--one Tony hadn’t heard in so long. He could see it: Loki was shifting, drawing in, heat and anger and _feeling_ fading from his eyes, his mouth.

“Oh.” He regarded Tony, offered a thin smile. “You have misunderstood my interest in you.” Gave a weary chuckle. “You think I care for you. For what you think. At all.” He turned away, showing Tony his back. “Or that I have done anything for anyone’s pleasure other than my own."

He looked back briefly. “It was a mistake, elevating you beyond your rightful place. _You_ were a mistake.” And one last burst of heat, of disdain. Of disgust. “It is not a mistake I will repeat.”

And with that, inside another blink, Loki was gone.

***

The shittiest part? The truly _most fucking shitty_ part? So was Tony’s anger. It had begun to fade as the belt fell to the floor, as he saw the look on Loki’s face, as he felt the pain in his wrist and understood the pain he had inflicted.

Inflicted on purpose.

As he realized how badly he had screwed this up.

So he didn’t even have his righteous rage to comfort him as he looked around the silent apartment. Knew that Loki wouldn’t return here again, wouldn’t risk being snared.

They were done.

This was his cue to leave. 

_(to be continued)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this got edited out enough, and I'm happy enough with it, to post it on its own. Enjoy some smut with feels! 
> 
> Still expecting to post the finale tonight.

It was eight, he remembered: submission and domination.

One of those kinks Tony hadn’t even known he’d had.

He’d never lose the image in his head: Loki in a collar and leash on the floor at Tony’s feet. His own legs curled around beneath him as he lolled, head down and motionless in his temporary (and utterly voluntary) obedience.

Tony had struggled through it, the beginning of eight. At a loss to what to make the God of Mischief do, when in theory, he could make him do anything. He’d gotten some perfect cocksucking out of it, sure. Teabagged the hell out of him, because why the fuck not. Had made Loki finger himself for awhile, a nice turnabout after day two.

But then he’d run out of steam. Wanted to fuck Loki--God, wanted to fuck Loki so hard, and that wasn’t a problem. Being turned on until he was sure his dick could cut glass? _Not a problem._ He was straight up, thick, and throbbing as he looked over Loki’s cold ivory flesh, the pale contrast with the dark hair on his head and between his long legs. Those perfect green eyes, shaded now by his lashes as he faked deference.

He could make Loki hurt, maybe. Really make him hurt. He wondered at the way Loki was looking at him today, with challenge in those eyes. Wondered where he could draw the line. Wondered if Loki wanted him to cross the line.

Tony’s breathing changed, hastened, and Loki raised his head.

“Is there a problem, Stark?” Amused.

_Shithead._

Ugh. Welp, this was embarrassing. Had a god at his mercy and was totally stymied. Tony shrugged a little helplessly. Confessed, “I haven’t ... uhh ... done this before. I’m not sure my head’s in the game. And,” he continued quietly, “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want. Hurt you, too much. I don’t do that. I don’t want you to feel ... ” Anything after that would have sounded ridiculous (scared? bad? Was he a _five-year-old?_ ), so he let it trail off.

Loki shook off his submission like rain from an umbrella. Arched his back in a smooth, relieving stretch. Settled back on his ass with his arms propping him up behind. “That’s sweet, Stark. But I highly doubt there is anything you can do to me that would even sting.” Smug little shit. “Whatever you can do, I’ve had worse. And usually without the promise of pleasure afterward.”

Tony recognized his cue and gave Loki his bullshit face. “Oh, really, King of Pain. Do tell.”

In retrospect, that was--maybe--a mistake. In retrospect, making light of the stories that Tony knew for a goddamned fact couldn’t possibly be true, couldn’t possibly have happened just that way, probably just made Loki want to tell him that much more.

With that much more detail.

Not all of the stories Tony had read had happened, no, and some of them had been exaggerated. But if any of what the Liesmith was telling him had a kernel of truth? 

Even a _kernel?_

Loki was kind of fucked up for a lot of bad reasons, and maybe just a few really good ones.

When Loki finished talking, finally, his head was resting on Tony’s knee, temple to bone, as Tony stroked his hair.

He looked up, resting his chin now on Tony’s kneecap. He was clearly preening under the touch, despite the nature of the recollections, which had spilled from his mouth with near-complete detachment. The recounting of a resumé, instead of repeat accounts of punitive torture. Just as casually, he played idly with the loop of the leash. “The All-Father can be creative. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t earned what he meted out.”

“I guess,” Tony said slowly, and thought, _No._

“Yes, well.” Loki smirked, and Tony knew his face was broadcasting his thoughts. “So, you see, anything you could do ... No. _Nothing_ you could do, if done out out of desire, out of want, could hurt me.” Dropped the leash. “I have a rather thick skin.”

Thick skin, his ass. Tony raised a hand, touched Loki’s cheekbone, the slant of his eyebrow, the bow of his upper lip ...

He hadn’t fucked Loki, but after that, knowing what to do, where the limits were, had been easier. He’d moved Loki back to the bed. Made him kneel on the mattress, then used conjured ropes to bind him by wrists and ankles to the headboard, a figurehead on the prow of their own kinky ship. Bound his upper arms together behind him so his body was bowed out, only a little tightness on Loki's face and his brows betraying the strain. Tony didn't take off the collar.

Loki waited with his head tilted down, lashes lowered again, but Tony could see the new brightness in his eyes.

Tony had it now.

Kneeling on the mattress just in front of Loki, Tony leaned close and whispered in his ear, “No matter what I do to you, no matter how much you need it, you will not come until I give you permission.” Then he watched the mottled flush spread from the hinges of Loki’s jaw up through his cheeks, and from his neck down his chest.

When Loki didn’t respond immediately, Tony took a dusky, peaking nipple between his fingers and twisted it. Heard the hiss, saw Loki’s entire body jerk ... and watched the surprised delight transform that face.

Knew Loki was completely fixed on him, and loved it. “Baby, what did I just say?” he said into Loki’s ear.

The answer was low and rough. “I may not come until you command it.” His mouth stayed open as he breathed in, showed a little tip of pink tongue, and Tony could suddenly think of a dozen things--dozens--to do just to that mouth.

Tony smiled back. “Yeah, that sounds better, doesn’t it?” Twisted his nipple again anyway before dragging a sharp thumbnail across it.

Loved the sound he got in response.

Yeah, after that, it was easier. Touched and teased Loki with firm hands, all pinches and scratches, nips and slaps, until Loki’s aching cock dripped a continuous string of seed onto the sheet below. Edged him to the moment of release and brought him back, over and over again. Until all he could say, after the curses and pleas and moans, was Tony’s name. With his beautiful, beautiful mouth.

God. _Eight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to **pocketwitch** who asked, in a "Cherry" comment, about whether I would expand day 8. Wasn't planning on it, but I realized it would fit perfectly into this story to show the kink negotiation--and how badly Tony really buggered things. Thanks, pocketwitch!


	4. Chapter 4

“Fuck,” Tony said to Bruce in conclusion, after the reception, once they’d gotten back to the tower and settled at the bar. Tony was nursing sparkling water, and Bruce had a Dr Pepper. Tony snorted at the diet can. Old habits died hard--for green rage monsters who normally needed a lot of calories.

Bruce sipped, following it with a grim smile. “Yeah, that’s a fair assessment.”

“So, I fucked up.”

Got a nod in return. “Yeah, you did. God, Tony--hitting your unstable, near-omnipotent boyfriend with a belt when you’re pissed? Hitting _anyone_ with a belt when you’re pissed? Take it from me--that's not going to work out for you.” Bruce talked over Tony’s automatic defense, and didn’t soften his tone at the pathetic look he got. “No, Tony. You messed up. You didn’t just break the campsite rule; you pretty much trashed Yellowstone. You need to say ‘I’m sorry’ with hairshirts and, like--” He waved his hand until the word came. “ _\--self-flagellation._ ”

Bruce fell silent for a minute, finally took pity on the other man, who was just whining a low, continuous animal note at this point. “But, still--if he goes out kil--if he’s in his old form again, it’s not your fault. Blame Odin if you want. Blame the giant ... thing. Or blame Loki, because he is an adult to the _nth_ degree.” The ardor at the last got Tony’s full attention. “That’s not on you, no matter how many of your ... bedroom games go wrong.”

Tony took his own drink. Sighed. “Okay, fine, but ... why the hell did he do it, Bruce? Christ--I thought he’d killed hundreds of people. For hours.”

“You said it: He wanted your attention. Got it in the most Loki-like way he could think of, without driving you away--he thought.” Bruce snorted. “Your trickster boyfriend played a prank, Tony.

“Maybe he thought you’d recognize it for what it was. Maybe he thought you’d laugh.”

Oh, God, as if he couldn’t feel worse. “Shit, Bruce, I did laugh, until-- I thought--” Another whine. A hitch of breath, then: “I broke the campsite rule with someone who is twenty times my age and probably had ... a few more lovers.” He and Bruce shared a chuckle, but Tony’s faded immediately. Then he slammed his head to the bar, just once, maybe a little for effect. Lifted it back up and stared, bleary-eyed, at his friend. “So, what do I do now? He and Thor are going to live forever. Practically speaking. He’s capable of _interstellar flight._ ”

Then, with fervor, “Without a ship, Bruce. _Without a fucking ship._ ”

Tony pushed the glass out of the way, folded his arms on the bar’s surface and dropped his face straight into them. Then, muffled: “He could go the rest of my life without coming back, and he would barely notice. And the last thing I did was show him what human garbage looks like.” A harsh-sounding pull of air, with a final whine of “Bruuuce.”

Got an elbow in his side for his trouble. Looked up to a stern eyeing from the other man. “Tony.” Bruce squeezed the can a little in his fist, crumpling the sides. “I think you have your own solution, if you’d stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second.” Picked up his can, and Tony’s now-empty glass, and stood up from the bar.

As he moved to the sink, he offered over a shoulder, “Maybe this time _you_ need to get _his_ attention.”

*******

The looks Thor aimed his way had kind of broken Tony’s heart in the last week, but today he was having none of it. Simply ignored the man’s pitiful expression as he plopped down one chair over at the dining table. As Tony grabbed some cheese and bread slices from the platter Steve had put out earlier, he began with, “So, listen. If I wanted to get ahold of your brother--how would I do that?”

Tony got a wan smile in return. “If Loki does not wish to be found, Tony, I can assure you--he will not be found.”

Tony breathed through the clench in his chest. Went back to assembling his sad, boring sandwich. “Okay, well,” he started. Looked for the mustard and discovered the condiments had been put away. So had the pickles. “I have a feeling I’m not going to see him again, or ... you know, he’s not going to let me talk to him if I do.

“So, if you ever get to talk to him again, would you just tell him that I’m sorry? For being an asshole?” Pressed the sandwich together, took a bite.

“Stark--”

Food in his mouth never stopped him. “No, seriously--even if it’s two hundred years from now.” Tony paused, finally swallowing. “Especially if it’s two hundred years from now. That way, maybe the last thing he’ll feel about me will be guilt, and at least that’s something besides just, you know, disgust.” God, that fucking hurt. Even trying to pretend it didn’t, even just being a douchebag in Thor’s direction, Tony felt sick.

Knew how much he wanted Loki to look at him one more time with something other than ... other than nothing. _Goddamn it._

Tony put his face in his hands, the sandwich perilously clutched.

Alarmed, Thor began, “Stark--”

“No, hang on.” Tony pulled his face from his hands--realized Loki was going to win again, because he had to tell Thor something. “Thor, I screwed up. I don’t really want to get into the details, because you’ll need to kill me, and then I’ll definitely never get to talk to Loki again, but, just trust me. _I screwed up._ And I really need him to know that I know. You know?”

Searched for “plaintive” in his emotional repertoire and hoped his face was coming close. “And it would be of more use to me now, actually, than two hundred years from now, because I may suck, but I’d rather get a chance to say I’m sorry than just haunt his ass with leftover bad vibes for the rest of eternity.”

Thor’s eyebrows had risen during Tony’s rant. And the end, he tilted his head. “May I speak now?” he asked in a patient tone.

Tony shrugged. Nodded. Took another bite of the worst, most deserved sandwich ever.

“I don’t know what offense you committed, but I more than anyone understand his tendency to cut ties when offended. I wish you all good fortune in repairing whatever ... understanding you have with my brother.”

And it’s not like Thor wasn’t there on thirty, getting waved off as Loki expertly and enthusiastically sucked Tony’s cock, but they were going to keep the ruse up, goddamn it. By act of god, literally.

Thor continued without even a wrinkled nose. “And while I believe it is unlikely you will do so--nay, hear me out. It is Loki’s nature to be resentful and suspicious, and if he trusted you once and you lost that--”

He was quiet for a moment. Looked Tony over as if trying to come to a decision. Finally: “Long ago, when Loki was ... revered by tribes of people from your world, he sometimes heard them. If called.” He shook his head at Tony’s reaction. “No, I offer you but a slim hope. He is fickle. Was fickle, then. Would sometimes be impressed by ... by sacrifice.”

Fuck. Of course he was. Asked anyway: “What kind?”

“Living sacrifices. Animals. Sometimes ... well.” An awkward look passed over Thor’s features, but he pressed on. “Beings willing to shed blood for Loki had their summons answered. Occasionally.” Thor sighed. “Not every time.”

Raised an eyebrow at Tony's distress. “He never wished to be predictable.”

Loki the diva. Yeah. The image was clear in his head--Loki responding once for every ten, every twenty, every hundred gutted animals ... people? Jesus.

Suddenly he lost his appetite for his punishment sandwich.

“Yeah, not carving up any virgins to send him a text. Okay, so--back to plan A. Just ... tell him. You’ll see him eventually, so ... just tell him. I’m sorry.

“Tell him he deserved better.”

Thor’s eyes tracked him as Tony stood, plate in hand. “I will.”

*******

But here’s the thing:

Tony was never good at waiting for others.

So, that is how, after days of pacing back and forth in his workshop, on the balcony, and finally in front of Thor’s door, he came to be kneeling in front of a makeshift altar in a corner of his bedroom. He held a knife in his hand.

Fuck it: If Loki wanted a living sacrifice, he’d have one--emphasis on the “living.”

Un-fucking-believable. _This_ was his life.

_(And, God, he hoped it worked.)_

On the altar, a photo of Loki, of course--one of him at his craziest, when the invasion was going his way and even Tony started to think they were going to lose. It was Loki at his most powerful, his most terrifying.

His most sacrifice-worthy.

Thor had given him some items, too. A piece of Loki’s cape he’d shredded off during that last fight. The little blade Loki’d gutted him with. If anything was going to win the bastard over, that would, Tony knew, as he thanked Thor profusely.

To these, he had added a few snips of his own hair. A tumbler half-full of his favorite bourbon. Just so Loki targeted Tony and not the entire tower. Just in case.

Then, the little silver tree Tony had pocketed that last day in Loki’s apartment. When his anger had drained and he suddenly knew he wouldn’t see the liar-god again. He’d wanted a fucking souvenir.

Last, of course, Tony’s own blood, as he sliced across the heel of his palm. _Godfuckthathurt._ And maybe pointless, but ... he sometimes--in all his own arrogance--thought he knew Loki. Understood him. If anything was going to be good enough to get Loki’s attention, this was it.

Tony’s own pain. His own sacrifice.

His blood dripped into a bowl in the middle of the altar.

And, yeah, he waited. 

Knew Loki deserved it.

*******

Loki made him wait three days, probably just for kicks. By then, Tony’s hand had almost stopped stinging when he clenched it, and he clenched it a lot, just to mark the passage of time.

Was starting to think it was time to remove the creepy altar of dried blood, hair, and booze from his bedroom, when he heard the voice.

“It has occurred to me that--perhaps--my prank was in poor taste.” Smooth. Low. Welcome.

And Tony? Tony laughed.

Turned to discover the god, who was studying the altar’s contents critically, making a show of finding that sacrifice meager indeed. The sight of Loki next to Tony’s this-close-to- _Twilight_ creeptastic shrine only loosed what was left of Tony’s control. He squinted at Loki, keeping him in sight through eyes wetting with tears as he howled and gasped for breath. Bent low over his own legs as he pressed his palms into his thighs-- _ow._ Lifted his wounded hand and shook it, even as he couldn’t right himself for laughing.

It took minutes, literally minutes, before Tony surfaced again, face hot with a final, herculean attempt to control himself. By then, Loki’s full attention was on him, and him alone, watching with barely-leashed tolerance.

He looked gorgeous, haughty and huge and fucking immaculate. And that just made it worse. Tony choked on his own spit.

Long seconds later, he finally managed, “Oh, you _think?,_ ” through a hiccuping cough.

Loki didn’t look happy, per se, but he looked _something,_ at least--so much better than nothing. “It may have been in poor taste. ... Still,” he sniffed, “your reaction was--”

“Wait,” Tony cut in. “I know. _I know._ ” He moved to the altar. To Loki. Held a hand up, palm out, and waited a moment to ensure it would be slapped away or crushed. When it wasn’t, when Loki just exhaled through his nose in reaction, Tony slipped it around one of the arms held at his sides, slid it down to circle Loki’s wrist. “I know it was.”

“You actually thought I wouldn’t notice the difference,” Loki said, and that expression? Was _something._ And it hurt.

Tony’s words were soft. “I thought it didn’t make a difference. I was wrong.”

At that, a measure of tension left Loki’s posture. Tony began to to see a hint of one of the god’s natural expressions--not much, but something akin to the first revelations of genuine feeling, ones shown cautiously to Tony in the early days. They remained silent as Tony turned his curved hand around Loki’s wrist. The cut on his palm ached, which seemed fitting enough. “Will you, uh ... stay?”

Loki looked past him, took in the whole room. “Yes, I think so.” Not leaving well enough alone, he followed with a fake-bitter, “They gave away my apartment.”

Tony’s stomach still hurt from earlier, so his laugh was weaker this time, but no less heartfelt. “Okay,” he struggled finally, after catching his breath. Caught Loki watching him again, this time with a cautious, shared amusement. “I can probably find a place for you here.”

It wasn’t expected, but he didn’t flinch as Loki’s hand came up to his face, gently pressed on Tony’s cheekbone before running his fingers down to his jaw. “What do you want to do? Now?”

Was quiet for a breath while he just looked Tony over. “Talk. Touch ... I haven’t decided what else. Yet.” Surveyed Tony’s room, then nodded at the bed. “Sleep, eventually.” And then, with a shrug, “The precise terms are unimportant. For now.”

Ah, yes. Terms. “Can I make one suggestion?” That earned a wary look. He had a feeling Loki wasn’t going to be too receptive to his suggestions for awhile. Continued anyway, with, “That whole ‘blanket consent’ thing? Not really sustainable.” Leaned into Loki and moved his hand from his wrist to circle his back. Brought the other hand around in a mirror hold. “It’s probably time for a safeword.”

Loki snorted. He reached for Tony’s upper arms, but not to push him away. “I told you safewords are for mortals, did I not?”

“And I’m only human.” Rested palms gently on Loki’s lower back. “And _we_ need one. For the things we do to each other.”

Got a small nod. “Agreed.” Loki lifted a hand to stroke two fingers over Tony’s cheek again, past his temple and into his hair this time. “Do you have one in mind?”

“Hm. ‘Killer robots in Manhattan’ is probably too much of a mouthful,” Tony observed. Loki snorted. “So, how about ‘Pacific Rim?’”

He got an eyeroll for his trouble, and then a single, decisive nod.

**Epilogue**

Tony would have taken longer to notice the intruder if Dummy hadn’t freaked out. The bot came to life, suddenly, rolled across the workshop in a strange path as if avoiding and following something simultaneously. Moving backward and forward, around, like a dog honing in on an unfamiliar insect.

Next, JARVIS: “Sir, an unknown entity is in the workshop.”

Tony looked around. Whatever it was, it was small--hidden on the floor behind one of the tables, and moving, based on Dummy’s strange behavior. Tony shelved his work and approached cautiously. “Jay, get ready to alert the others if--”

Didn’t need to finish the orders, although he wasn’t altogether sure what he was seeing at first.

At first.

It was a robot. The SHIELD noobs would have called it a miniature Transformer, but, yeah, okay, that’s pretty much what it was. Tony was looking at a small replica of one of the robots that had taken over Midtown two months before. A couple of feet high this time, it was near silent, though now that Tony was upon it, he could hear the slight whir of gears and clink of joints as it moved.

It was carrying a box. And if the familiar shape of the robot hadn’t assured Tony they weren’t in immediate danger, the color of the box would have. It was a particular shade of green that the Pantone geniuses, attempting to be of-the-minute, tried to name “Liesmith” the year before.

After being shouted down by the sane, they changed it to some Scottish town no one but its residents had ever heard of. The fact remained, however, that it was the precise shade of green of Loki’s armor: rich and elegant; full of poison, if you hated him; genesis, if you ... didn’t.

Tony took the box from the Transformer’s outstretched arms, and the robot stilled. Dummy poked at it as Tony turned away.

“A present, huh?” He set it down on the table. “Uh, Jay--the God of Mischief and I have been getting along pretty well, but, hey, just in case--”

“I’ll be ready to alert the others if the box explodes or attempts to devour you upon opening.” Drily, “Sir.”

“Thanks, Jay.” Tugging the lid off the top, Tony pulled out a cloth bag that opened at one end, slid the heavy contents into his palm ...

It was a hairbrush. A beautiful one at that. Dark wood, maybe walnut, with light, natural bristles. Its handle fit perfectly in Tony’s hand. Nicely weighted and comfortable. A flat, square back. Unmarked. And--he studied the bristles--unused.

Oh.

A paddle brush.

_Ohhh._

Glanced down at the robot on the floor, and then at the box. Found a card tucked inside with a single word on it: “Now.”

If there had been any doubt, any hesitation to cross certain boundaries in the last weeks, it was gone.

It was time to start a new list.

Yeah. 

_That?_ Was Tony’s cue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Wrote a Tumblr prompt that follows on from this:[Exposed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634946/chapters/1835648).**
> 
> The "campsite rule" refers to another Dan Savage-popularized concept, that when you're in a relationship, especially with a younger or less experienced person, you commit to leaving them at least in as good a shape as you found them, physically, emotionally, etc.
> 
> The silver tree? Some headcanon I haven't written out yet. It's referenced in the beginning of [The Sure Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/824084) as a knickknack Loki has in the apartment, something he doesn't want Tony to touch. And I have some ideas in my head about what it is and what it means to Loki. I'm tucking it in here in case I end up writing that out.
> 
> (That's probably the least appealing intro ever, but here I am on Tumblr: <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/> It's worth noting I also make salacious comments about Will Graham and flutter dramatically about other people's writing on a regular basis.)


End file.
